


Blues Fading

by BlueFingers (POPP_Writing_Group)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Dysphoria, Bomber Megatron, Communication, Cute Ending, Fanfic Universe, Fluff and Angst, Flying, M/M, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seeker Rodimus, post LL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 10:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/POPP_Writing_Group/pseuds/BlueFingers
Summary: “You want to. . . fly?”Rodimus shuffled on his feet.  “Y-yeah.  I thought, maybe, since you had your flight alt-mode back—maybe you wouldn’t mind.”





	Blues Fading

**Author's Note:**

> A conglomeration of ideas put together in the Megarod discord that I smooshed into a fic, hope y'all like lol

“You want to. . . fly?” 

Rodimus shuffled on his feet.  “Y-yeah. I thought, maybe, since you had your flight alt-mode back—maybe you wouldn’t mind.” 

Megatron looked down at himself.  It had been decided that having an aerial mode again would be beneficial—their last “adventure” had nearly gone very wrong when all of the fliers hadn’t been there.  Brainstorm had checked his files, restricted him to the lab for a week, and now—he had his old bomber alt back. 

It was strange.  For all of them. He had refused to change his biolights back to purple, and of course, there was the badge on his chest.  But he was conscious—very conscious—that he looked nearly identical to the Megatron that had killed Hot Rod. 

Rodimus still flinched when he walked around corners. 

But this was a step forward, and Megatron was always eager to take steps forward when it came to his co-captain.  Rodimus had taken them for him. Rodimus had taken... quite a few for him. 

“I would not mind,” he said gently.   

Rodimus perked up, his spoiler lifting. 

“Is there a reason you want to go?” Megatron asked as they turned to walk onto the bridge.   

“Actually, um.  Yeah,” Roddy said.  “I—remember that cult of mnemosurgeons that Chromedome had to fight his double in—” 

“Yes, Rodimus.”  Megatron shut his eyes briefly, willing himself away from the memory of grasping hands and gleaming needles.   

“One of them, when they had us prisoner?  Remember? She went really far back in my head and she found out something I didn’t know.” 

Megatron raised his optic ridges in question, sitting on the captain’s chair.   

“When I was sparked, I was supposed to go into a flight frame.  And my protoform got messed up, I dunno how—maybe cuz of the war or somethin’-- but it didn’t work.  And all I got left was this.” He wiggled his spoiler distractingly. “And that’s why I wanna race all the time, Drift thinks.  And why I’m always so. Um. Me.” 

“You?” 

“What you said when you came on the ship,” Rodimus snapped.   

_ Childish, petulant, pathologically ill-suited to command.   _ Megatron sighed.  “Why you’re so distractible and easily excited?” 

“Yeah, Megs, that.”  Rodimus sat down on his lap, apparently as a punishment for speaking the words.  “I wanna be flying, Drift says, cuz it's in my spark. And I can’t, cuz it’s not in my frame.” 

“You’re a seeker in a racer’s frame,” Megatron said, pushing him slightly to the side so he could see something other than the mech’s fluttering spoiler.  “I understand. I had slight alt-mode dysphoria when I was formatted into a gun.” 

Rodimus flinched, just a little, as Megatron shifted his arm.  Megatron sighed again, feeling Roddy’s fear bleed out of his EM field before it was determinedly reined in. 

“You know I’m not going to hurt you, don’t you?” he asked. 

Rodimus blurted out a laugh.  “Uh, yeah, Megs. Duh. I know that.” 

“And you know I would never shoot you again, given the chance.” 

“ _ Hopefully  _ not!” 

“Good.”  Megatron rested his helm tentatively on Rodimus’ neck—he was still unsure exactly what they were, but Rodimus seemed to appreciate displays of affection.  “And I will take you flying... tomorrow?” 

“Yeah!” Rodimus turned, stroked his hand gently on Megatron’s jawline.  “And... thank you.” 

Tomorrow brought an unexpected surprise:  Rodimus was unable to fit in Megatron’s alt-mode.  He spent two minutes huffing, another two minutes trying to persuade Megatron to let him install mass-displacement so that he  _ could  _ fit, and finally calmed down long enough for Megatron to explain the  _ other  _ feature of his new (old?) aerial mode. 

And then they were off. 

“Give me your hand,” Megatron said, floating just outside the airlock, propelled by his bootjets.   

Rodimus tentatively reached outside of the airlock barrier, into the cold reaches of space.  His fingers brushed at Megatron’s. 

“Trust me,” Megatron said gently. 

Rodimus looked up at him, and his expression was open for once—unhidden fear flitting honestly across his face.  Fear and uncertainty and the barest flashes of panic, and Megatron saw Hot Rod in Rodimus’ eyes. Their hands separated. 

“I want to,” Rodimus said quietly. 

Megatron propelled himself closer, slowly, hovering just outside of the barrier.  “I don’t blame you for not doing so.” 

Rodimus wrapped his arms around himself and huffed, looking to the side.  “Yeah, well—maybe I’m sick of this whole trauma thing already, Megs. I know how I’ve been acting.” 

“How you’ve been acting is entirely my fault,” Megatron said, glancing down at Rodimus’ chest.  It hadn’t been too long since the Matrix had been slung about that flaming chassis and served as a target for Megatron’s cannon.  Hot Rod had been nothing to Megatron back then. 

Now, it might not be too inaccurate to call him his everything. 

“I care about you, Megatron, all right?” Rodimus snapped.  “And I’m tired of having past events come in between that.” 

Megatron glanced down at himself.  There was no denying that his new alt mode had had a big part to play in this recent development, but reformatting himself just wasn’t an option.  Not that he wouldn’t take it if he could. Not that he wouldn’t go back in time and rework every choice he’d made that had led to Hot Rod floating there in space, chest torn open, neither alive or dead. 

“You don’t have to forgive me,” he said.  “You don’t have to forget what I did. You don’t have to pretend like it never happened, because it did, and I did it.” 

“I  _ know,”  _ Rodimus snarled. 

“I’m not asking you for anything,” Megatron said softly.  “I’m telling you it’s okay to walk away.” 

“And I’m telling you that I don’t fragging want to,” Rodimus said angrily.  “It’s my choice, Megs. And I want your help making it.” 

Megatron floated down to Rodimus’ level, putting them face to face.  “How can I help?” 

Rodimus took in a deep breath.  “Fly with me.” 

Megatron bowed his head.  “Anything.” 

Rodimus hesitantly reached out his hand through the barrier again.  Megatron held his own still, allowing Roddy to grasp at it on his own.  

“Now, take me,” Rodimus demanded. 

Megatron smiled and obeyed, gently pulling Rodimus through the airlock and out into space, holding onto him firmly as the lack of gravity sent the captain’s legs flying upwards.  Rodimus yelped, grabbing onto Megatron’s head and shoulders. 

“I have you,” Megatron said. 

Rodimus grunted, attempting to wrap his legs around Megatron’s waist.  “Maybe fraggin’ act like it, then?” 

Megatron smiled, and captured Rodimus’ kicking legs in a bridal carry, letting him relax in Megatron’s arms, saying no more.  Rodimus huffed and snuggled up closer to Megatron’s shoulder, clinging to his neck like a lifeline. 

Together, propelled by Megatron’s bootjets, they flew around the Lost Light—not the task of a few minutes, or even an hour.  Megatron took his time, knowing that Rodimus needed this, needed the feeling of open air around him and the freeing sensation of being nowhere near solid ground. 

And besides, Rodimus was special. 

Megatron wasn’t about to rush this, not after his captain had trusted him to do it. 

Megatron shifted Rodimus as they came around the first corner of the ship, gently making him turn his head to observe the nebulae that bloomed around it; blues fading into purples fading into black punctured by the small white points of faraway stars.  The faint light of it illuminated both of them, reflecting off their plating and making miniature universes of their optics. 

Rodimus sighed faintly, and surprisingly, said nothing; nebulae were the occurrence of a normal day aboard the Lost Light, but seeing one without the confines of a ship was a privilege usually only deep-space flyers experienced regularly.  Megatron would have expected Rodimus to be, at least, belittling the supposed beauty of the star cluster. 

But no; his erstwhile prime simply leaned his head back against Megatron’s chest and settled in to enjoy the view. 

Together they flew around their home, Rodimus' normal weight reduced to nothing in the gentle embrace of the infinity around them.  Megatron held him close, carefully, as if he was a delicate thing; and while that was one thing he  _ wasn’t,  _ Rodimus was precious and Rodimus deserved kindness from Megatron, if he gave him nothing else in this lifetime.

But, as it turned out, Rodimus didn’t want only kindness from Megatron; as they reached the entry airlock where they had started, he turned in Megatron’s arms and quickly pressed their mouths together, his other hand clenched tightly against his own chest.  Megatron returned the kiss softly, letting Rodimus deepen it as he would; and he did, almost desperately, biting down on Megatron’s bottom lip and bumping their noses together pushily.

Then he broke away, and relaxed back in Megatron’s arms.

“Why?” Megatron asked, once they were safely inside the ship again.  Not that he minded. Not that he’d deny Rodimus anything, now.

“I had to make it clear,” Rodimus muttered.  “That you’re... safe. That you’re... not what I’m afraid of.”

“Clear to me?”

“Clear to  _ me.” _

Megatron nodded down at him.  “And did it work?”

Rodimus glanced up at him, and the corners of his mouth cracked in a halfway grin.  “Yeah. Yeah, I think so, Megs.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> gonna be honest the part about the nebulae is my absolute favorite thing i've ever written and i'll never top it


End file.
